


Promises, promises

by Anonymous



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alpha Armie Hammer, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Boss/Employee Relationship, Coffee Shops, Creampie, Dom/sub, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, M/M, Marijuana, Mild Forced Feminization, Mpreg, Omega Timothée Chalamet, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29472717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Timmy really, really knows he shouldn't have let him in.He shouldn't of let him do it, but he did and here he is being the pathetic mess he was always meant to turn out to be.The + sign is startlingly loud in the silence and he only has his broken willpower and handsomely arrogant boss to blame.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 344
Kudos: 166
Collections: Fanfic Anonymous





	1. Valentine's Day

**Author's Note:**

> ~ When past is referenced it will be in italics. ~

It was Valentine’s Day. Timothée is _miserable_.

  
He glanced over at the red lines multiple times over. His heart long sunken into his chest mere minutes ago when the results first reared the sad, disappointing truth.

  
How did this happen? He _let_ it happen. He let it happen eagerly. He remembers the night bitterly now, the vision of it, him, _Armie_ all too clear and the hiss of guilt in his chest makes him clench his eyes shut. It’s a desperate attempt to block the choppy images infiltrating his brain like an erratic strobe at a rave party.

-  
 _/ He cries out softly through his bared teeth, the white glint of them digging into clean cloth fabric, **Armie's** nice pillows. There’s an proud swell in the middle of Timmy’s tummy that he’s passionately trying hard to ignore right now. It starts somewhere with the fact that he’s bent over, thighs glistening with slick, with Armie’s shirt swimming baggily around his tummy, all loose on him because he’s so **damn** tiny in comparison. And there’s Armie, strong and so fucking big as he towers from above him. Timmy’s eyelashes flutter shut, eyeballs rolling back in his lids as he submits to the sweet, overly wet sounds of Armie’s thrusts. His toes curl, a battered whimper leaving Timmy’s lips as Armie aggressively presses Timothée completely face down onto the bed, his rosy cheeks getting more smushed into the plush pillow clinging to his front teeth._

  
_He takes it. Powerless to Armie, an **alpha**._

  
_The room is silent besides them, frantic in the sheets. He whines brokenly as Armie violently thrusts once more into his tender little walls, then stilling at his hole and pressing painfully all the way in. Timmy chokes on an inhale, feeling Armie’s heavy alpha balls unload rhythmically inside of him, the subtle little pulses against his ass cheeks._

  
_Timmy, so blind with omegan pheromones and instinctual submission didn’t even dare question Armie’s lack of condom usage till he was sat down later that day at Pauline’s disheveled NYC style table eating mexican food for lunch. He didn’t have to think about it, he **felt** it. The unintentional dripping of warm cum racing down his thigh was an awfully hilarious way of proving why being an omega is so absolutely draining. Timmy could sense his cheeks heating up a bloom of fuchsia, mind flowing with guessing thoughts of when his ovulation was supposed to happen and hopeful wishes his fertile little womb remains fertile and **empty** , not pregnant by an alpha that hasn’t even claimed him. Pauline couldn’t scent the alpha’s musk due to being genetically a beta, Timothée was thanking his god damn lucky stars. \_  
-

He exhales through his nose, trying to steady his breathing. It was just a one night stand Timothée tries to tell himself to avoid the flood of emotional feelings that are invading his body. At least that’s what Armie claimed that night as he pulled out of Timmy’s pliant body, simply zipping up his jeans and leaving Timmy laying alone in his bed like a pathetic sack of potatoes

  
Nothing can come out of this, Timmy _isn’t_ dumb. Armie will always just be his boss and a guy that used Timmy for his naivety. Timmy had always disgracefully been a fool for older men, men who had wise years behind them. Men who knew what they were doing. Men who had _power_. Timothée always had a blip in his preferences he’d always try to shut out, always tried to pretend wasn’t there so he wouldn’t have to question if there’s something wrong with him or if it’s just his unfortunate biology. He can’t help it, he loves, adores aggressive men. Armie was his answer. He could sense it from the moment he met him, his stare could fill up a room and it had invaded Timothée’s heat trigger like he was trying to do that in the first place.

  
Timmy had to press three fingers into his wet heat that night and had stifled his weak cries with his palm. His thoughts had repeated Armie’s icy glare & thick, lengthy fingers that are decorated with manly tresses of hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm only going to continue this if you readers leave a comment letting me know you're interested in this fic💘


	2. Blue Monday

Timmy bows his head at work most of the day, only glancing up when Armie’s nowhere to be seen because he’s purely terrified and he doesn’t know what to do. There’s a crazed paranoia in him telling him that making even the most minute eye contact with Armie will send off an subliminal message stating ‘I’m _**pregnant**_!’ above his head.

  
The only time he makes conversation is with customers and with his closest co worker, Jonathon. Timmy follows after him most the day for a small sense of comfort and pleasantly enough Jonathon is strictly business today, not too analyzing or questioning Timmy’s strange demeanor.

  
Too bad Timmy only admires him in an platonic type of way considering Jonathon is undeniably understanding at times. He's the rare kind of alphas that speak to omegas like they actually have a brain. Timmy appreciates it greatly with the ease the perspective it provides. It gives him a rational sense of hope that not all alphas are savage beasts with no intellect on the modern society and accept the fact omegas are more than just fuck holes.

Though there's still a critical vast change to be made, omegas are practically still allowed to be harassed and assaulted in public with barely any punishment to the perpetrator. Timothée had to carry mace on him growing up. He was only _god damn_ thirteen years old carrying his mom's mace in his little jean jacket pocket to prevent harassment from perverts.

Timmy takes a swift glance towards Jonathon, pondering why they never tried to have anything before he and Armie happened. Within just seconds of viewing him the answer is clearer then a sunny day. Jonathon may be tall, handsome, as well as an big _alpha_ and rugged around certain edges but he looks _way_ too frat boy esque. He’s handsome to a point. It's just his grey eyes and douchey chin strap aren’t what Timmy ever thinks about, and honestly, he's just not _dominating_ enough. He's too young, lacks experience and that solid confidence men like _Armie_ have.

He's perfect for a friend, nothing more.

  
It’s good enough that they’re friends though, Jonathon has come in handy too many times to count on one hand when Timmy’s been harassed by much older male alphas at work. He’s always ready to step in and defend Timothée like he’s a god damn weak child.

It’s become an bittersweet tradition they have.

  
Timmy sighs pitifully, looking around the decently empty café. They’re slower in the afternoons.

  
A girl spills about half of her cappuccino on the floor after taking a little sip of the molten liquid, obviously scolding her lips due to being freshly brewed. She scoffs exasperatedly, “you people need to learn how to warn your customers of the temperature, I could of spilled this on my new leggings!” she scolded, her large blue eyes going angrily wide. She turns and storms out with a scowl on her tacky pink painted lips.

Timmy sighs, glancing back at Jonathon's reaction. Of course Jonathon's busy trying to stifle a laugh.

  
With a loud huff Timmy flips his bangs out of his face and grabs the clean up mop, the murky water of the mop bucket sloshes messily onto the amber tiles. His curls are becoming too long. Girlishly long, he quietly fears cutting them because Armie evidently liked the length when he _bred_ him like a bitch, holding his wavy curls in a makeshift ponytail, or that's just a gentler way of describing Armie’s fist.

  
Jonathon snatches it swiftly from behind Timmy, catching him off guard. He smiles friendly, but there’s _something_ to it.

  
“You can sit this one out, I can tell you’re having a rough day,” he chides fast and casually. Timothée can tell it’s pointed to not offend him but nonetheless it does. Is his internal turmoil that damn obvious?

  
“You can tell I’m agitated without even saying a word? You damn alphas are _super_ annoying,” Timmy laughs, playing off the twisting in his gut. The embarrassment that he can’t even pretend things are normal for a second. He’s so horrific at saving face. 

  
Thank _God_ Armie hasn’t been around much today, or even in general. He’s been keeping his distance since they slept together. It’s weird, they kind of been pretending what happened that night never did. It’s evident that’s much more impossible for Timothée to do so at this point.

  
The line is empty and Jonathon is busily sloshing half dirty water on the coffee spill, Timmy risks his luck and sits on a potentially empty box full of different creamers and syrups just to rest his feet for a mere minute till the next wave of customers swarm. The box dips under his weight but holds up well, still mostly full of product.

  
Jonathon messily drops the mop into the bucket, dribbling a bit onto the tiles in the kitchen area. “I can’t wait to be off today,” Jonathon admits with a grimace, looking at the pile of dishes waiting for him. Timothée sighs in relief, happy to relate, “ _same_. Today and yesterday have been pretty stressful for me,” he purposely doesn’t elaborate further, hoping Jonathon takes the hint that he doesn’t exactly want to discuss it.

  
“Care to spill?” he quips, raising a curious thick, bushy brow.

  
Timothée sighs, it’s in his nature to please alphas even in the most trivial situations. He shakes off the instinct to submit the information, knowing it’s just going to cause a rush of curious questions.

  
“I’ll tell you tomorrow or something, I’m just trying not to think about it honestly,” he chuckles dryly, feeling every ounce of strain reaching his vocal chords.

  
“ _Here_ , this might help you get your mind off bad things, I got a decent amount from Jimmy the other night this was just a little sprinkle I brought for the walk home from work,” Jonathon grinned, tossing Timmy a little ten dollars worth of weed bag. It’s all shake, no longer in a complete bud form but perfect for rolling a little blunt. He’ll stop by the corner store on his way home for papers.

  
“Thanks J, you’re always looking out for me,” Timmy smiles, genuine and appreciative. He’d offer a hug but he feels that’d make the casual trade off a bit too corny and emotional. Besides alphas view things much less sensitively than omegas.

-

He rolls up with a grape swishers blunt wrap. The weed is sticky and tangy on his tongue as he rolls, more so than when he had in the past. He wonders if his pregnancy hormones are already changing things. It’s a bleak realization. It makes this feel much lonelier. He hasn’t mustered up the courage to tell anyone yet so he can’t confide these minor changes to anyone as much as he’d like. Worst of all, the change excited him. It almost makes him want to throw the whole blunt away in nonsensical fear that this could harm the baby this early on.

  
The _**baby**_. 

  
He finally admitted the word to himself. Let it play like a skipping record in his head.

  
_Fuck_.

  
This is suddenly so very painfully real. He never considered what comes next now that he’s pregnant. He doesn’t have a clue if he’s keeping the child or _worst_ case scenario, abortion. He supports it but he never wanted one for himself. He gets a sudden rush of genuine irritation. Armie just got to nut in him and dip without any embryo sneaking up on him and fucking up his life. It’s so fucking unfair, Timothée has to carry the weight of it all on his own.

  
The honest truth is Timmy just wishes Armie would of checked on him. Would it have been too much to ask if he needed a plan B that day? Would it be too much just to make sure Timmy was _okay_? He didn’t even get escorted out of Armie’s house like he deserved. He had just left silently whilst Armie was busy showering. Timmy dreads thinking back on it, cringing at how discarded he had been treated and felt as he had walked home with his ass sore and _used_.

  
Timothée just wishes Armie cared, there’s no other way around it. And he fucking doesn’t and that’s what burns even worse, he flicks his half empty lighter and ignites the tip of the blunt. Wafty thick fumes of grape scented smoke harshly rushes through his nostrils, he takes a deep inhale and sobs quietly into the night air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment down below that's what keeps me motivated to make more chapters 💖. Thank you for reading !!! 💘


	3. Hate Me

His eyes are swollen and a tad peachy toned compared to the rest of his pale olive skin when he arrives at work on Friday. There has been an constant stampede of irrationality in his brain these days. One second he’s good, fine, as whole as he can be when he somehow finds a way to keep himself pieced together. 

  
Most the time he’s been strained in more way than he can possibly keep up with. There’s guilt on multiple levels. The fact he still hasn't told him mom or **_worse_** , Pauline. He doesn't want to tell Armie and have to fear the vulnerability of facing his reaction to the news. Though he also is petrified of the emptiness of not telling him, too.

Sometimes all he can pray for is to hibernate from life for a moment, if only he could cut open a little corner in the glistening night sky and climb inside till he’s ready to face life again.

  
“Shit, what happened to you last night?” Jonathon hisses quietly, purposely keeping his voice down as Armie’s lurking in the kitchen area checking how fast they’ve been operating.

  
“I just got in my head too much,” Timmy whispers back, cheeks hastily turning flushed. _Typical omega_ , Timmy thinks Jonathon probably is thinking. Timothée leans over the side of the counter, swiping his onyx work card into the entry slot so he can clock in. 

  
Armie pops out from the kitchen, a deep grimace on his face and he has their sales sheet clenched in his fingers, wrinkling it with the aggression. His alpha smell heightened by his posture and adrenaline. Timmy internally whines, tempted to lean forward to get _closer_. Snap out of it Timmy.

  
“The _**fuck**_ is this?” he tosses it haphazardly onto the barista counter.

  
Timmy winces at the anger lacing Armie’s tone. Timothée's biologically wired to submit to the alpha’s dominant voice. In a sense to stable himself he bites down on his bottom lip harshly, sending a shock wave of pain through his chin. His ass feels a flash of heat like a fever and- yeah, he's fucking _leaking_.

  
Jonathon looks unbothered by the seething nature Armie’s emitting. Alpha’s are too lucky, Timmy thinks cruelly, shooting daggers at the side of Jonathon's head. Completely jealous at the way they have full control of their thoughts and emotions. The envy Timmy feels in that fleeting moment is _unreal_.

  
“Now who clocks in at 6 a.m everyday Monday through Saturday?” Armie hisses, playing like he doesn’t know just so one of them has to own up to it.

  
“I do, sir,” Timothée states softly, biting his tongue when sir slips out. Armie was literally inside his body a little over a month ago, does he really deserve the same respect an boss with no strings attached would? 

Timmy wants to laugh at himself for pretending to have dignity, he's lying to himself. All it'd take would be one touch of Armie's finger and he'd drop hastily to his knees, beg and submit and be willing to give whatever Armie was willing to give _him_.

  
Armie nods sharply, glaring at Jonathon’s careless demeanour, “you can attend to the customers now, Johnny,” he snarks, infantilizing his name with a sarcastic grin.

  
Jonathon honks a chuckle, “Thanks boss.” He leaves the area with a tiny apologetic glance sent Timmy’s way, but it changes swiftly when his nostrils flare. Did he- yeah, he could smell Timmy's slick and that meant- that Armie **could**. The fake smile drops from Armie’s face within the small space of a split second.

"Jonathon, _**go**_ ," Armie ordered, this time harsh. His tone dropping two octaves. Timmy shivers without intending to, biting down on his bottom lip so he doesn't whimper out loud.

  
 _Fuck_ , now he has to face him alone. Timmy can feel his insides turn to pit of hot mush, clenching his stomach muscles painfully in an anxious manner. He exhaled heavily to stave off the cold sweat about to start.

  
Armie peers down at him, studying him almost like he’s a damn injured fawn, Timmy knows Armie can visibly see his discomfort and smell the apparent stench of his slick making a mess between his thighs. He can probably sense how hormonal and stressed since his scenting is enhanced due to being an alpha. “Timothée,” Armie begins firmly, taking a quick glimpse towards the front of the shop and then back to Timothée’s nervous gaze.

  
“Yes?” Timmy says obediently, eyes shooting wider open to gaze cautiously as Armie’s tense look. He’s so pathetically submissive for him, he thinks, wanting to kick himself internally for being so instinctually weak.

  
The air is stiff.

  
“Come to the back with me,” Armie says without waiting for a response, he turns. Timothée’s belly churns with a sick sensation of butterflies. Armie just _**knew**_ Timothée would follow him without a question.

  
He does of course, carefully following his footsteps. Every step to the storage room making his rapid heart beat flail even faster beneath his bony ribcage. He thinks about how weirdly intimate this is, their baby in a way, is being around their alpha. It's _father_.

  
Armie opens the door for them, and closes it swiftly just as Timmy enters the storage room beside him.

  
Timmy hopes his omegan scent doesn't start filling up the room, “Sir-“

  
“Timmy, stop playing stupid. You can call me Armie,” Armie interjects, frown lines settling deeply into the shadows of his face. Armie purposely keeps a good distance between them, Timmy can tell it's to avoid scenting him.

  
“Yes Armie,” Timothée shakily agrees, crossing him arms to cover himself. The back room is unheated and treacherously cold due to the Winter weather breaching through the metal door.

"Do you know what you've been doing wrong?" Armie asks him, tense but composed at the same time. He straightens his back, taking up space and clasps his large hands together in a sense that a teacher would to a disobedient student. Timothée feels petulant.

Timmy shakes his head bashfully, suddenly feeling like a burning spotlight is on him.

  
“You’ve been doing disastrously,” Armie scolds. His eyes steely as he goes on to elaborate, “your productivity is down around anywhere from twenty five to thirty percent. It seems you have Jonathon doing a third of your shift for you."

  
Timmy wants to cry.

  
“Please, sir don't be mad I can explain-“

“You mean Armie, but if you’re so adamant on referring to me that way then you’re free to do so,” Armie chides, looking down at Timmy as if he’s being an obnoxious child.

  
Timmy is befuddled, offended and hurt. He knows he’s been slacking but he’s been going through so much and fucking Armie would know that if he had cared to ask.

  
Looking at Armie now is wildly different but yet so _similar_ to that night where Armie had simply pushed him down and taken him like Timmy had been a whimpering cat in heat.

The deep, pointed stare was the same but the disappointment was not. Right now Armie looks like he’s just bitter and tired of being around Timmy when Timmy has been so distant and purposely avoided him for this very reason. The distance between them had been a lonely hell but this is even more damaging to Timothée’s mental health and more importantly their fetuse’s development. Timmy feels every ounce of devastation boil over with that thought. His baby’s father has really, really pushed him away without even realizing how crucial this moment could be to Timmy.

  
He wants to cry, sob and then maybe stuff his face with ice cream like losers do in the movies. Timmy is definitely feeling like a loser right about now.

  
So he does exactly in that order, but he waits till after he finished his shift to do the last option. His whiny, hurt noises are swallowed by the cheap, fleeting pleasure of chocolate chip ice cream that he got twenty five percent off at the corner store.

  
That night his mind races with thoughts on how their conversation ended. Repeating the whole thing like some tragic record that won’t stop.

  
-  
/ _“Please, sir don't be mad I can explain-“_

_“You mean Armie, but if you’re so adamant on referring to me that way then you’re free to do so,” Armie chides, looking down at Timmy as if he’s being an obnoxious child._

_“I love this job- and I just been going through a lot of stress and- and dealing with personal things,” Timmy stammers, going weak knees as he imagines a life without Armie no longer a little piece of it._

_"Personal things stay out of work, Timmy," Armie glares, but there's a deep disconcerting look in his azure blue eyes, "you know better than that, don't you Timothée?"_

_Timmy gulps. Timmy doesn't know better than that. Armie doesn't even fucking know better than that. Timothée kind of wishes he'd have the courage to scream at him for being such a God awful hypocrite. Armie didn't seem too concerned with keeping 'personal things out of work' when he had Timmy bent over- using him and putting a baby in his belly-_

_Timmy can't make eye contact when he says it, "yes sir."_

_“Then prove it,” Armie finalizes while playing with the lapel of his jacket. His body language becoming less enraged and moreso composed. He seems almost pleased._

_Timothée nods, curls bouncing near his chin and pupils flickering around Armie’s face. No matter how disciplined and patronized he feels he has a huge, ugly and disgusting corner inside himself wanting to get on his knees is this very moment. To scrape them submissively for the sake of Armie's pleasure, he wants to please him. Make Armie proud of him, to forgive him completely and see him as a good, responsible boy. Not some dumb omega who can’t figure out the simplest things or tasks._

_Armie turns and leaves him behind. Not asking nor waiting for him to come with. Like a true alpha, Timmy's mother would say._

_Though Armie is no longer as mad at him Timmy is a simple omega, when he is scolded he cries like a dainty flower trampled on._

_He somehow manages to finish work with only a few tears slipping out whilst managing the orders, he picks up on extra slack too and takes more orders than he’d usually get in. He pathetically hopes tomorrow Armie will be proud with his performance. \_

_-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you want to motivate me to write faster! Constructive criticism is also welcome! Thank you so much ❤


	4. First Confession

The sky is a dull shade of murky blue. The sun not risen fully, just peeking through the NYC buildings as the wind whips at Timothée’s face. He stills right before the big sign full of golden letters. 

  
_**A.H. Coffeé** _

  
Armie owns the _entire_ thing. 

  
Timmy sighs agitatedly, yanking open the door by its luxuriously thick handle. He wishes a plump magic genie with golden tinsels in its hair would pop out of the sky right now and give Timothée three wishes. His first wish would be to not have work scheduled for today, for starters.

  
The other two wishes would involve Armie, _tragically_.

  
Jonathon’s not here on Tuesdays, so he’s got to force small talk with Gina, it’s not that he doesn’t like her. He has nothing against her it’s just the fact they usually don’t relate to much. He still considers Gina a casual friend though she has a penchant for rambling her head off about rom-coms and cheesy Netflix shows.

  
“Hey little Timmy!” she calls out as soon as she sees him. It’s a wholesome little inside joke she made up when they compared Timmy’s thigh to her arm which were roughly about the same width. Timmy doesn’t mind it, he thinks it’s sweet.

  
“Hey, Gina!” he grins back at her cheerfully even though he doesn’t feel much of it on the inside. He’s pretty much just on edge. He doesn’t know what to expect if he sees Armie.

He pathetically just wants comfort. _Anything_. 

  
He wishes Jonathon worked today or that Pauline lived closer and visited more often. There’s an intense longing to confide in someone growing inside him with rapid momentum day by day.

  
Gina looks at him with an innocent smile as she hands a customer their frappe and his mind is made up in two solid seconds.

  
Timothée slides his time card into its slot to clock in for the day. He _subtly_ bumps into Gina on purpose with his hip. He’s going to go to the storage room. She may not be an omega nor possibly pregnant but she’s never snitched on him before for taking breaks when he wasn’t supposed to so why would she be distrustful now?

  
“Gina, can I talk to you in the back real quick?” he hisses quietly, eyes large and paranoid as he flicks it around the interior and to the already served customers occupying the café.

  
She quirks an intrigued look, raising a brow.

  
“Okay, sure,” she agrees curiously, herself glancing around from what Timmy suspects is boss checking. Just seeing if Armie isn’t around so they won’t get reprimanded.

  
“ _ **Great**_ ,” he exhales loudly in relief, clearing his throat. There’s an itch of unsure excitement. He hopes Gina can put some of her rom com knowledge to use and show him what to do.

  
They mutually head to the back, she makes small talk along the way. Questions of how’d you sleep? Did you see the boss today? And various other low-key questions.

  
Timmy settles on a sack of sugar, it’s the commercial kind for businesses. Who knew twenty five pounds of bagged pure white cane sugar would make such a nice DIY seat?

  
Gina turns serious as soon as the door clicks shut, “the boss didn’t send you to fire me right?” she inquires seriously with a flickering, uneasy expression.

  
Timmy bursts out laughing at her quizzical expression. Gina doesn’t look very amused but her expression softens up immediately.

  
“Christ, Gina it’s too early for jokes,” he smiles, but it weakens when he remembers the real subject. Should he spill? Should he keep it to himself? What if she tells Armie?

  
The thoughts overwhelm him like he’s in the midst of a whirlpool involuntarily being sunked down under. Hiding hasn’t gotten him anywhere good, he figures.

  
“So?” she asks, tugging her sweater down her arms to feel some warmth in this chilly room. Her hair is long, and curled, resting on her shoulders. Gina is pretty, a casual plain Jane type of pretty but still pretty. Timmy wonders if Armie ever has thought about her in the way he had Timmy that one night. The thought itself revolts him. He feels possessive over Armie in an odd sense like he even has a right. He wants him to want Timmy alone, nobody else.

  
“I _am_ ,” he falters, gaze slipping towards the floor instead of her hesitant brown eyes.

  
“I’m fucking pregnant, Gina,” he whispers fast, eyes stinging with the wild tears ready to form, “-and I don’t know what to do.”

  
She sighs sympathetically as she eyes him softly. Gina might not know him much on a very personal level but she knows enough to want the best for him. Timmy can tell by the disappointment lacing her irises.

  
“Well- shit. Do you wanna keep it?” she asks out right, swallowing thickly.

  
He doesn’t need more time than a blink.

  
“Yes,” Timmy rushes out without even thinking. His eye brows creasing at the natural answer. It’s true even though he hasn’t tried to think about it much. He’s an omega after all. His whole purpose is to please, breed and raise. He has never been one to overcome his instinctual urges no matter how hard he argues it in his head.

  
She nods acceptingly, and carefully watches his expression, “well, please tell me you know who’s the father?” She pauses for a second, then her eyes light up like she had an epiphany, “Is it Jonathon?”

  
He raises an eyebrow in amused surprise, “why would you think that?”

  
“I just see the way he looks at you sometimes so I thought maybe you guys had a secret thing going, I don’t know,” she chuckles awkwardly.

  
Of course she wouldn’t know. It’s a bitter reminder how unclaimed he is. There’s nothing in existence more insulting then an alpha not wanting to be possessive over his omega.

  
Timmy lets out a dry chuckle, looking down at himself because he can’t manage to hold her intrusive stare much longer. His cheeks turning an undeniable red.

  
“I’m not calling you a whore or anything if that’s what you think-“ she starts, feeling bad if Timmy took offense and misread her questions intentions.

  
“No- no,” he interrupts, “it isn’t that it’s just-“

  
“Its Armie’s,” he finally releases, holding his breath but feeling relief flood him.

  
She looks at him crazily, wild eyed, “stop. You’re lying-“

  
“Why would I?” he whispers, bringing his bony knees up to his chest in a vulnerable manner.

  
“Wow,” is all she croaks, taken back.

  
“Yeah,” he whispers defeatedly.

  
She plops beside him, nudging him over a good inch to make room.

  
“So, you haven’t told him right?” Gina asks softly.

  
He brushes his mid length curls out of his face, sighing dejectedly, “no. I don’t know how to. He barely even talks to me anymore after what happened,” he trails off. It’s honestly embarrassing how easily Armie brushed him away like trash.

  
An odd smile develops on her cheeks, she flushes and let’s out an awkward giggle, “I don’t mean to be too prying but like- how did you and him and like- sex come about? I’m just used to Armie being an cocky asshole twenty four seven,” she inquires with an intrigued look. Timmy feels kind of like a science project but it’s not her fault. He’d be nosy too if the shoe was on the other foot.

  
He laughs softly, envisioning it. “Honestly? It was over some dumb idea I had to switch the ugly freezers in the front into the stocking area so the customers wouldn’t have to see them. And then I had this other idea to order personalized napkins and cups so we could subtly advertise more, you know to increase revenue. So Armie told me we could discuss it in a more casual setting- which turned out to be his house-“

  
She nods, listening intently.

  
“So like- I’ve uh, always kind of had a crush on him right? So being at his house and seeing all his personal things made me feel pretty special honestly, and I got ahead of myself to the point- you’re not gonna believe this,” he laughs, “but to the point that I spilled wine he offered to me all over myself. Like not even in a glass, he let me smell the opening of the bottle and somehow my clumsy ass tipped it too far and it went right all over my jeans that I was wearing- so even though I could tell that kinda annoyed him he was polite enough to let me use his bathroom. He put a plain shirt and some- oh my god let me tell you, these huge ass slacks of his that obviously I’m not going to fit into in there,” Gina and Timmy giggle. He straightens up, still with a light smile playing on his lip he continues, “and like- right when I was about to get dressed I see one of his shirts lying on the floor by the hamper. And you know, since I’ve always been attracted to him I uh- kinda wanted to smell him and see what his clothes would look like on me.”

  
Gina laughs whole heartedly, “now that is so cute!” She squeaks, elbowing him playfully in the side.

  
“Stop,” he laughs embarrassedly, he flushes with a small sweat breaking on his back, “Ginaaa, this is so fucking embarrassing to admit,” he chuckles.

  
She shrugs, “it’s honestly pretty wholesome Timmy.”

  
“So I- I ended up putting on the shirt and I gotten too curious that I thought I could check out his bedroom which was right next door, because I had thought that he was still in the kitchen or something. And once I went into his room I quickly went through his things just to snoop and I didn’t find anything bad. He just had normal guy stuff but I was feeling like, weirdly curious so I laid down for a second in his fucking bed like such a weirdo. So like I’m there, just dressed in his shirt and laying on his bed like a freak and that’s when he opened the door. And like he obviously knew I was snooping through his stuff and- ah it’s so embarrassing looking back on it now,” he stutters nervously, feeling like he made himself sound like a whole stalker. Gina thankfully doesn’t seem to care much, if anything she just appears to be interested to hear more.

  
“So he saw you wearing his shirt? What happened?”

  
Timmy clears his throat and nods, his cheeks burning with a dash of shame, “well at first I was shocked that he saw me like that, but it didn’t seem to bother him at all like- he immediately just rushed towards and got on top of me and then- um, we had sex,” he fakes a cough, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

  
She sits there silently besides a listening hum. Timothée crinkles his nose, he knows she’s thinking he’s a creep.

  
Gina yawns, cracking her stiff neck, “sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night,” she explains simply. “So how did you consent and like, how did it start? He just kinda attacked you?”

Timmy snorts, “Gina, it was completely consensual but like, I think he might’ve been a little tipsy but sober enough to know what he was doing. He definitely smelled like alcohol when he was on me and he seemed very aggressive, but I think being aggressive is just who Armie is,” Timmy trailed off.

  
Gina nods, “yeah, seems like typical Armie behavior. Well, without the sex part thrown in,” she grinned teasingly.

  
Timmy peers up, moving his neck awkwardly to the old dingy clock on the wall. Time to get back to work. Gina seems to notice too, as she grunts and stands up right seconds later. She helps Timmy up too due to his pregnancy, like he’s sacred. He blushes gingerly, feeling warmed by the gesture. 

  
Timmy prays Armie treats him special too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drama next chapter. Expect a lot of angst. What's your thoughts? Feedback keeps me going 😳❤


	5. The Unexpected

It’s Wednesday. Timmy’s been on dish duty at work. His sleeves are soaked at the tips, it’s _not_ the greatest day so far.

  
It’s 2:15 p.m.

  
Time for his 2nd break.

He decided when he got to work that morning that he’ll tell Jonathon about the news.

  
-

  
“You’re what? No fucking way!” Jonathon snaps in disbelief, an wild eyed confused look gracing his features.

  
There’s thankfully only one occupant in the café besides them, she’s an elderly woman who quickly sends them a strange look in return.

  
Timmy thuds his head purposely hard against his arms currently rested on one of their café tables. Could that stupid alpha be any _louder_? Timmy wants to hiss at him, though the omega in him wouldn’t allow that. Out right scolding an alpha was a big no no.

  
After seconds of awkward silence, Timmy lifts his head, starting off quietly but defensive, “it’s not that big of a deal-“ he stops when the alpha narrows his eyes at him, turning Timmy docile.

  
Jonathon has an odd grimace developing on his face, and he doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

  
Timmy’s stomach feels like it’s doing jump ropes with his nerves, growing increasingly anxious and bothered by the state of an alert alpha so close in proximity to him. So he just sits there patiently, silently waiting for a cue to speak. His fingers shiver with continued adrenaline from Jonathon’s shout. Jonathon is probably just being protective, he knows Jonathon views him as a little brother. Besides they’re only three years apart and good alphas are biologically driven to protect the omegas they care about. Whether it be family, close friends or your partner. 

  
Timmy awaits the ‘I’m just _kidding_ , congratulations.’

  
It never comes.

  
“So are you keeping that **_thing_** in you?” Jonathon asks coldly after a heavy exhale leaves his lips. His expression still pinched. He makes zero eye contact with Timothée when he says it, too.

  
Timothée feels taken back. This isn’t like Jonathon at all.

  
Timmy peers at him as if he’s grown two heads.

  
“Why are you being like this?” Timmy asks offendedly, hurt and confusion overtaking his cheeks paired with the mild scrunch forming between his brows.

  
Jonathon doesn’t respond immediately, the old lady’s chair scrapes loudly against the tiles as she makes her way to the exit. Now they’re completely by themselves with Armie out on his lunch break at the Asian cuisine place across the street. Timothée wishes that he’d yell at them to get back to work right about now. Instead here he is, now alone with his frustrated best friend.

  
“So-“ Timmy begins. Jonathon snaps, “shut up Timmy, go lock the door and switch around the sign.”

  
“But-“

  
“Just _**do**_ it,” he demands, going into his alpha tone that Timmy doesn’t recognize. It sends a grim, alerting message to Timmy’s brain, this is unknown territory.

  
Timmy feels like crying with every step he takes towards the front door, he hates when alphas he doesn’t want in an intimate sense use their alpha tone on him to forcefully make him submit like they own him. He feels his biology betray him and his cheeks scorch with shame as he begins leaking. It’s not his fault and his brain is repulsed by the idea of even getting wet for Jonathon. It’s scientifically proven omegas create slick sometimes even when they consciously don’t want the alpha they’re emitting it for.

  
He wants Armie. _**Now**_.

  
As soon as he locks the door his heart jumps in his chest and a tear slips from his eye. Will Jonathon hurt him if he smells his slick? Will he discipline him like an territorial older brother would? Will he come to his senses past the disappointment?

  
Jonathon winces with frustration when Timmy sits next to him, he crosses his legs respectfully like his mother taught him to do when he was young.

  
Timmy shakes when Jonathon grips his knee suddenly. “Who did _it_?” he asks, seething and gritting his teeth.

  
Timothée frowns, “look- you don’t have to be so protective of me. Like I know you’re my best friend but-“

  
Timmy sees white.

  
Jonathon smacks him, “shut the fuck up!”

  
Timmy _sobs_ , tasting his own blood from a tiny split in his lip. Jonathon fucking hit him. The sweet, constantly helpful and joking Jonathon a mere memory of him now. Timmy doesn’t understand.

  
Jonathon nostrils flare and instantly jolts up, backing away rapidly like being near Timmy might make him hurt him when more. Timothée whimpers at the feral stare filling Jonathon’s irises, so he huddles in on himself weakly. It’s evident Jonathon can smell him, his slick. He’s disoriented and too fragile in comparison to try to actually defend himself if need be, and that thought is pretty fucking terrifying.

  
Jonathon paces in front of him, his veins jutting out from his neck and forearms. 

  
“Jonathon, please,” Timmy begs, “stop- I’m pregnant and you’re fucking scaring me.”

  
The alpha stills at that, nose still flared and his fists tighten. “You just don’t fucking get it do you? I done everything for you and what do I get? Some fucking pregnant slut who wants to come whining to me about it?”

  
Timothée doesn’t understand.

  
“Who helps you when you’re stressed? Who helps you when you’re sad? Who did half your fucking shift these past months? I even- _fuck_ \- I gave you that fucking nice hoodie of mine last month when you were cold. But what do I get?” he laughs wickedly, no humor there just venom.

  
Timmy shakes his head rapidly, this must be a bad dream right? His best friend has been secretly lusting after him?

  
“I just get some slut who can’t even break me off a piece. Why Timmy? Am I not fucking good enough for you? I’m an alpha after all right? That should be good enough for an weak omega bitch like yourself-“ 

  
Timmy screams just as Jonathon lunges at him, shoving him back down on the chair with his rough hand encapsulating around Timothee’s throat.

  
Jonathon seethes, forcing his breath up close near Timothée’s ear drum, holding him taut by the throat. “Remember all the old fucks who would hit on you? I defended you all those times but now I’m starting to see why I shouldn’t have- I probably would too if I was an old fucker like them. You’re so fucking pretty- I mean, look at this fucking face,” he hisses, breathing too close to Timmy’s face as he grips it painfully. The position forces Timmy to look him directly in the eye, Timmy’s end is blurry from his tears.

  
Jonathon continues simply, like Timmy isn’t forcefully hearing all this, “and remember that one guy, the stinky big piece of shit who smacked your ass when we were leaving work? I followed him into an alley and broke his fucking hand.”

  
Timmy doesn’t want to hear anymore.

  
“Can you let me go, _please_ Jonathon?” he begs submissively, voice thick with tears. His neck bared and chest heaving.

  
The door _clicks_. Armie rushes in, looking pissed then alarmed.

  
“Who the _fuck_ locked the door?” he seethes, and then- “what the fuck is going on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, surprise.... Did you guys expect that? Let me know your thoughts ❤ more soon within a couple of days 😉


	6. The Truth

_/ Armie hit him first. Timmy screamed out, horrified to witness it inches from his own face._

  
_The brass like hardness of Armie's knuckles jerked Jonathon's head back like he weighed nothing. Timmy winced and sobbed out loud as it happened. It cut deep to see Armie in that state of mind, animalistic and threatening yet somehow Jonathon had been even worse. He’d became a monster right in front of Timmy's eyes then, his old façade murdered. Timotheé felt small._

  
_“Stop!” Timotheé had cried, all torn on whether to try to restrain Armie or to just sit there docile and let Armie handle it. Armie looked so horrifyingly angry then that Timmy guarantees he’d would’ve been flung to the side even if he had tried to defend Jonathon._

  
_Armie had halted after only three punches._

  
_It was terrible to witness, all of it. Whether it’d be the first punch, the one that ended him from the start. It had been fast and collided perfectly against Jonathon’s bony chin, making him disoriented with his brain bouncing in his skull. Or the second, the one that made him miss the one attempted punch he could muster to dizzily swing at Armie. And the one that ended him, a swift punch to the side of his sharp cheekbone. Armie’s muscles bulged big as the inertia caused his veins to expose under his gleaming flesh. Jonathon fell backwards like a stack of books, heavy and loud. Timotheé squirmed uncomfortably and hid his face into his palms, he wanted to **vanish**. The situation too traumatizing for him to handle in such a vulnerable, hormonal state._

  
_After just seconds of grim silence, Jonathon rose as best he could. He pitifully struggled to even stand without shaking, his face swollen, lip split. Timotheé wanted to die on spot. The omega in him begging him to act on it, to tend to an alpha he has love for. Jonathon was like a big brother to Timmy, watching him look so broken, broken over **him** , hurt painfully bad. But Timmy could never love him that way._

  
_Armie somehow managed to look kept besides his stance, his voice was unshaken as he spoke, voice deep and sharp. “Get the fuck **out**.”_

  
_Timotheé shook in response to his alpha tone, he whimpered out and his slender hand instinctively covered his belly._

  
_Armie finally glanced at Timmy then, an unreadable expression landing on his face._

  
_Jonathon coughed and cleared his throat. He spit out a little amount of blood mixed with saliva onto the same tiles he used to avidly clean. He then did the unexpected, cracked a toothy, twisted grin directed one hundred percent at Timmy._

  
_Timotheé gulped, a stutter blocking his tongue as he spoke, “J-jonathon… please just go, **please** ,” Timmy pleaded shamelessly, trying to avoid Armie and him clashing again at any cost. Timmy inherently wanted to run up and cling to Armie's arm for protection. To tend right then and there to the reddened little cuts on his knuckles._

  
_Jonathon laughed sarcastically, “don’t worry Timmy, I’m going, I’ll find a better job than this shithole,” Jonathon chided, sneering at Armie as he strided past him._

  
_Jonathon had stopped when he got close to the front, glaring back, “by the way Timmy, enjoy raising that bastard child that the daddy won’t want.” He then raised his eyebrows, like an amusing thought popped into his head. “I bet it’s Armie’s,” he chuckled bitterly, it echoed emptily in the vast space of the café. Timotheé wanted to crawl into a corner and hide. “He used to tell me all the time how’d he wanted to fuck you and then dip…”_

  
_Armie swallowed thickly, his gaze steely, “that’s not true,” he spit out._

  
_“Yeah, it is,” Jonathon chuckled, cocky and snide as he watched Timmy’s expression crumble into an even weaker mess_. \

-

Timmy patched up Armie’s knuckles in an awkward, strained silence. Armie just looked casually annoyed. He’s spread out, leant back in a chair with his bulky long legs taking up space. 

  
He caps the ointment after a moment, the gel blending into Armie’s skin. Timmy’s hands burn on fire, igniting with electricity getting to innocently touch Armie like this even though it’s due to a worst case scenario.

  
Armie fixes his lapel suddenly, his five o clock shadow resting on his sharp jawline like a subtle sunrise. The hairs just barely peaking out his skin.

  
He smells alert, mad even, but he doesn’t wear it on the outside.

  
Timmy controls a whine that unintendedly wants to slip, he crosses his leg over the other. Sweat springing at his hairline as he feels the simmering, embarrassing start of slick exiting his body. It’s a joyless reminder that Armie can smell how weak and how _naturally_ , unquestionably _consenting_ and pliant Timmy would be if he forced his thighs apart right now and had his way with him. Timotheé wouldn’t complain or say a single word except ‘yes’ and ‘please.’

  
That’s when Armie stands abruptly, making Timmy’s heart shudders nervously in his chest like a baby bird spotting a leering hulk. 

  
He’s towering above him and he looks every inch of an alpha that he is. He tightens his fists silently with a grimace, nose flaring as his blue eyes flick down to Timmy’s belly.

  
Timotheé furrows his brows, eyeing Armie curiously. His inners doing cartwheels and he swears he literally feels the baby in there already even though it’s still so _tiny_.

  
“That’s **_not_** mine,” he spits out through clenched teeth. He looks seconds away from leaving Timotheé alone in the café. The cruel look in his eye proving how much of a nuisance Timotheé is.

  
Timmy bites his lip bashful as a tear slides out from his eye.

  
“It is, Armie,” Timmy pleads gently, averting eye contact so Armie doesn’t have to.

  
Armie goes eerily still for a long moment, like he’s finally fully processing things.

  
“No.” He finalises, flat and cold. He turns to leave just as if nothing happened. Like Timmy isn't a ball of discarded misery.

  
He's tired of playing games. Timmy stands at that, moving, heavy tears getting ready to explode as he goes to grab Armie’s hand to stop him-

  
Armie whips around, his irises darkening like what Timmy would imagine a blood thirsty cracked out werewolf to look like. He shoves Timmy back so swiftly it felt like Timmy was walking on air as he collides soundly with the sturdy brick walk of the coffee shop, the decorative little fairy lights getting tangled up in Timotheé’s curls and brightening Armie’s thick, tense fingers wrapped possessively around Timotheé’s tinier throat. 

  
Armie hums as Timmy goes weak, submissive. Knowing it’s for his best. “Good boy, good little _omega_ …” Armie husks, trailing off as he studied Timmy’s fluttering eyelashes.

  
After their breathing levels out, Timmy swallows much needed air.

  
Armie’s demeanor drops back into a cold one when his nostrils flare, clearly scenting the increasing amount of self lubrication Timmy is producing for him.

  
He leans in, making Timmy shiver as his breath ghosts hotly over his ear.

  
“Stay away from me Timmy, you’re no good for me.” Timotheé hopes it's not wishful thinking but he _swears_ it sounds so utterly tragic. He doesn’t miss the hitch of his voice, the way it rasped hollowly at the end. Nor does he miss the way Armie’s fingers dipped more into the hollow of his throat, feeling the pulse there gently.

-

Timmy sobs the whole walk home after he finished up his shift, alone. The moon going big, then blurry as his tears morph it as they please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Armie finally KNOWS. Why do you think he responded the way he did ? Theories welcome ❤


	7. Let's Talk

It’s been over a week since the fight happened, Armie has been in only once since and that was due to him having to count the café’s earnings for the week. Gina’s been kindly working extra hours to aid Armie whilst he searches for a good replacement for Jonathon’s spot.

  
Timmy has been keeping to himself. He figures he can’t get into anymore unnecessary drama or gossip if he just keeps his mouth shut for now. Plus Pauline’s been texting more often getting suspicious of his unusual quiet nature. He usually keeps her updated every couple of days but he’s been too stuck in a pathetic rut of disappointment to worry about anyone else or even have the energy to.

  
He feels like his mom should’ve gotten rid of him. He’s a _failure_. He’s an unwanted omega, that’s the biggest possible insult known to humanity.

  
Omegas are so rare that they are seen as trophy’s by alpha’s desperate to get one of their own. Betas are the most common and by traditionalists they’re seen as the most normal of all, the _original_ ‘humans.’

  
The theory on why Alpha’s and Omega’s naturally came about was due to famine, women were biologically the only creators of life until the savages struck. Women were to look after their children as well as be harvesters in the fields. The men hunters, builders and wood gatherers.

  
When the savages struck they nearly wiped all the women from the face of the earth so that the men would have to fend for their own food and learn to cook for themselves, without proper knowledge the men turned to starvation from lack of nutrients of eating raw potatoes and onions.

  
Then, evolution created the first alpha and omega as a last safety net for the human race. The books claim their names were Leaf and Eir. The book gives tell that Eir, the first male omega was bred by Leaf, the first alpha, throughout dusk till dawn till he gave birth just three months later to two frail female betas. 

  
Evolution also extended the pregnancy period over time as originally Eir’s body was barely equipped go healthily go through the process due to his masculine traits as omegas bodies used to barely differ from alphas. Now omegas naturally have wider hips, raised nipples and excessive lubrication to help the birthing process.

  
Though betas are the most normalized of all alpha’s firmly hold their place as being the utmost well respected due to their commonly tall bodies, instinctively cocky and assertive attitudes. Which is caused due to their insanely high testosterone levels as well as the evolutional factor caused by them having to be protective and forceful to their omegas in the dark ages to prevent another slaying like the savages did.

  
The omegas are otherwise on the exact bottom of the totem pole, they might be seen as a prized possession but treating them like it is a whole different story. Omegas are still seen as whiny, sensitive fuckholes to the good portion of society that still holds traditional values. They are told to be proper, quiet and submissive and have high rates of depression due to high rate of assault statistics.

  
Timmy personally doesn’t mind his biology besides when it betrays him. Like when he gets wet randomly without wanting it. Or how snappy, out right rude alphas used to put him down in front of their friends in high school and no matter how hurtful the things they said were, no matter how objectifying he’d excitedly end up on his knees, his mouth _used_ by them later the same day. Some of it was shameful but he couldn’t help his instincts.

  
He was a traditional omega no matter which way he looked at it. Being submissive never scared him or was off putting. Instead it was the most rewarding feeling when an alpha would seem pleased with him. He just wanted the American dream with Armie, was that too much to ask for? 

  
To Armie it was, _clearly_.

  
-

  
Timmy is lifting a light box of syrups into the countertop, he’s got two dispensers to fill. The strawberry and the orange fizz, a little residue of the strawberry syrup leaks onto his finger as he shoves it into place. He sucks the tip into his mouth, it’s empty today and he’s not feeling the most health conscious, he’s got a headache and brewing nausea which is much more distracting.

  
“ _Timmy_ ,” Armie’s voice booms from behind. Shit. Timmy wasn’t even prepared to see him today. He’s overly aware that he looks a mess, he turned up to work with sweat pants and unbrushed hair. He’s definitely not following the slacks dress code nor has he ever actually wore those dreadful hair nets.

  
Timmy freezes, and turns slowly, _cautiously_.

  
“Here,” Armie says simply, handing Timmy a ponytail hair tie. It’s the ordinary black ones that Armie definitely got out of their 'safety’ kit the Gina sweetly enough added a lot of omega friendly things to even though she isn’t one. Including heat weakening pills that temporarily weaken an omegas pheromones, and the panty liners that can be used for omega slick as well as female menstruation.

  
Timmy smiles weakly, Armie looks good. Really, terribly _too_ good and Timmy wishes things were drastically different for them. His plain white button up shirt looks so proper yet manly on him. He wears it so casually like a model would with designer clothes.

  
So he stutters dumbly as he replies, “okay, th- thanks.” Armie’s fingers holding the dainty ponytail ironically reminded Timmy that gentle hand roughly caged in Timotheé’s throat recently. There were marks left after that night and he still wonders if it was proof of Armie or Jonathon’s choke hold.

  
It’s a struggle trying to pull it around his too short but longish hair, every time he gets a decent bunch it flops out the second he tightens the band.

  
“Sir-“ Timmy clears his throat audibly, “it won’t fit. My hair isn't long enough,” he explains, watching Armie’s expressionless face carefully.

  
Armie tilts his head to the side, as if in a calculating way to decide how it'll work, “come here.”

  
Heart jutting like a bouncing rabbit in his chest, Timmy does, hurriedly.

  
“Here,” he croaks, throat suddenly desert dry. Armie’s rougher fingers snag it easily, and he threads his fingers into Timotheé’s hair before he can even say anything. “I-“ Timmy starts, “shut up, just let me do this,” Armie grumbles, mostly to himself but it makes Timmy whimper involuntarily anyways. The way he strokes through his scalp sends shockwaves down to the horny little pit in his tummy, he grits his teeth before anymore sounds slip out. He prays internally Armie didn’t hear the first noise.

  
It takes no longer than twenty seconds but it feels like **_forever_**. Timotheé exhales in relief when Armie steps away, and he swears he didn’t imagine the subtle touch of bulge that touched his back of thigh as Armie pulled away.

  
He needs air, desperately.

  
“It looks professional now, Timmy,” Armie states generously, his tone blunt but it’s still a bit awing coming from him. Timmy smells the yucky overly sweet smell coming from the toaster oven of their cinnamon bread and his stomach lurches. 

  
“Shit,” Timmy hisses, rushing to the barely uses trash bin that they use in the corner for old bread. He empties his stomach contents till he shakes and realizes Armie’s holding his mini ponytail up. His heart would flutter if his stomach wasn’t busy kicking his ass.

  
“Are you sick? I can dismiss you early,” Armie offers, his voice strange like he’s unsure what to say to Timotheé.

  
Timmy glances blearily up at him, eyelashes getting caught in his heavy bangs flopping in his face from the odd angle.

  
“Armie, you know what it is,” Timotheé sighs. He’s exhausted with running away from Armie and the topic. He can only give him so much time to let the news settle in.

  
Armie purses his lips, pinched. A frown engraving it’s way between his eyebrows.

  
“Right. Let’s talk about that later,” Armie decides to himself with a nod. Timmy let’s out a deep belated breath, he doesn’t know what to expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooooooo. Thoughts ? ❤


	8. Bittersweet

About thirty minutes prior to closing the café for the day Armie slipped him a note.

  
**Be ready in fifteen**

  
Armie takes him to his house.

  
It’s odd, being back here again. Not certain what ground he and Armie stand on. He wonders aimlessly if Armie wanted to actually bring him here or if it was just more convenient for Armie. What if it’s what Jonathon said?

 _‘He used to tell me all the time how’d he wanted to fuck you and then dip…_ ’

  
Timmy swallows thickly. He’s sat alone on Armie’s emerald nylon fabric couch. The air is a bit chilly. Armie keeps his thermostats unpleasantly low Timmy notes, clinging to the baggy sleeves of his sweater for warmth. He hopes he doesn’t look too much like a mess. His outfit definitely isn’t the most attractive but at least he and the baby are cozy. His joggers at least was complimentary with his sweater, a midnight black and his sweater grey embroidered with baby pink hearts. On the bright side he managed to style his curls in two minutes in the bathroom at work. His hair looking bouncy and no longer a messy pony tail it had been before.

  
Armie comes out from his hall, startling Timmy slightly as he was staring off into space, feeling a little anxious and loopy. He corrects his posture quickly and crosses his legs properly. Timotheé internally hopes Armie views him as presentable and more than just a one night stand or employee.

  
Armie appears strained as he says it, he tugs at his jacket uncomfortably, “can you take _this_ for me?”

  
Timmy's throat goes dry. He can’t be serious.

  
A single clear blue pregnancy test. Armie looks away as it falls into Timotheé’s hand, looking increasingly tense.

  
“You don’t believe me?” Timmy asks, sounding small. He feels it too. Huddling in on himself, his tiny frame feels vulnerable. He swears he can feel the baby move. Wishful thinking, he assumes.

  
Armie flicks his blue eyes to him with a grim, forlorn stare.

  
“Take it, **_omega_** ,” he snides, walking away and leaving no room for argument. Timmy’s belly flip flops with a feeling of disrespect and arousal at the crude way Armie said ‘omega.’

  
-

  
Timmy is wet by the time he sits on the toilet. It’s nearly impossible for an omega to be alone around their chosen alpha without craving to be bred, pregnant or not. Timmy hasn’t been with anyone since Armie purposely, even before he knew he was knocked up. He’s wanted Armie to claim him for awhile now, back before when it was just a schoolboy esque crush and Armie never gave him a second look, at least Timmy thought so.

  
The test was more expensive than the dollar store one Timmy had used. He pulls it out of the box haphazardly without needing the skinny instruction manual. He’d done this before.

  
“Pee on tip, wait three minutes,” he whispers to himself, sighing with anxiety as he awaits Armie’s response.

  
-

  
Timotheé doesn’t know where Armie ventured off to when he steps out the bathroom, so he simply goes back into the living room. He sits down, fighting off the ravishing desire to look a bit through Armie’s things. His books on the end table, his shiny watch laying discarded there too, smell his 'midnight stone’ candle to figure what ever the hell that’d smell like.

  
Armie invades the room suddenly, invading as in spooking the shit out of Timmy by appearing silently from behind him. Timotheé jolts, wincing in embarrassment when Armie just peers down at him, unamused.

  
“Here,” Timmy states, going into his omega tone where he softens his expression and quiets his voice to show submission. He wants Armie to be pleased and he would give up all ounces of respect to get that.

  
Armie grabs it in a snap, eyeing it carefully.

  
“This plus sign means?”

  
Timmy answers for him, “pregnant.”

  
Armie doesn’t move nor look at him for a long moment and Timotheé can barely handle the silence. Timmy wants to say something but he has a grim feeling he shouldn’t. There’s a darkening look overcoming Armie’s face and Timotheé thinks maybe now he should’ve stayed home.

  
Timmy closes his eyes for a quick moment and Armie's gripping his wrist, pulling him up without much cautiousness in mind.

  
He leads Timmy to his bedroom silently and Timotheé can feel his heart beat thudding so hard he could sense it in his toes.

  
Timmy turns to him as Armie steps aside, like he’s about to leave Timotheé alone in the room. He goes big eyed, like a doe, he’s far too curious to let Armie leave unquestioned.

  
“Sir- I mean Armie,” Timmy stutters, “why am I in here?”

  
Armie disappears for a moment. His long shadow comes back into view as he returns from what sounded like the bathroom, and then Timmy sees it.

  
Armie holding a shirt of his Timotheé had seen him wear countless times. It’s big and white, a simple cloth button up Armie usually paired with a tie.

  
“I wore this yesterday. Undress and put this on and keep on your underwear. I’ll be back in five minutes.” He tells Timotheé in a casual tone but it’s full of domination on the clear fact he knows Timmy will obey without question.

  
Timmy takes it with a blush, and turns on his feet.

  
-

  
Armie doesn’t knock when he barges in. It’s an obvious habit Timmy now can note.

  
He’s at least covered up some, he guesses. Though the worst part, the worst part is how absolutely, pathetically drenched he is.

  
He wants to crawl to Armie’s feet and gently, obediently pull his cock from his pants and please him with the natural sensuality and pliant warmth of his body.

  
Armie narrows his eyes at him, Timotheé can’t help but arch, the huge shirt of Armie’s riding up like a little mini dress on his thighs.

  
Armie strides with slow, sure steps, careful like he’s purposely keeping his boundaries.

  
“Armie-“ Timmy whimpered out, the fluid between his legs disorienting him, he struggles to think rationally like this. Armie’s prowling around him now, studying him.

  
“Raise the shirt, _Timmy_ ,” Armie orders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do you think Armie is about to do ? And I owe you all a huge apology for the delay ! I had thought this chapter got deleted because my ao3 kept telling me I had no saved drafts which was very discouraging. I hope to have another new chapter out within a couple days 😈💞


	9. The Test

“Raise the shirt, _Timmy_ ,” Armie orders.

  
Timmy moves to pull it up, anxious and jittery. His toes curling when the thought that maybe Armie will take him right now flickers his mind. The ' _what ifs’_ driving him insane in the span of all but two seconds. He can’t meet Armie's stare as he exposes his tiny but clearly rounded bump. Plus he’s practically nude with his tiny white briefs barely covering anything.

  
Armie grunts but doesn’t say a word, Timmy can visibly see that he’s hard.

  
It’s an alpha instinct. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Timmy reminds himself because he doesn't want to get his hopes up.

  
“Armie-“ Timmy begins to beg. His anxiety spilling over because he just needs him to say something.

  
“Shut up Timmy,” Armie hisses fast like another word from Timothée will make him do something impulsive. Timmy’s chest rumbles with his increasing heart beat speed from Armie’s leering gaze

  
Timmy doesn’t dare utter a word.

  
Armie slowly, almost tediously steps towards him. The more he nears the more Timmy can note the dominating blurry gaze filling his eyes. He’s an alpha after all, it’s hard for him to not feel primal and powerful as he towers over Timothée from such an high place of power. Timothée is much smaller than him in every single sense, height, weight, strength. And on top of that he’s vulnerable and pregnant and Armie’s appearing very feral right about now.

  
Timothée involuntarily squeaks as Armie reaches out, firmly placing his huge palm across Timmy's little tummy, completely encompassing it. Goosebumps arrive like a rash on Timothée’s forearms, he needs to trust Armie no matter how terrifying that is.

  
He suddenly feels it.

  
Something **_strange_**.

  
Armie glances up from his belly for a mere second, meeting Timmy’s petrified wide eye stare. His gaze is darkening like an incoming thunder storm.

  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Armie hisses to himself, his voice a rough growl and his posture stiff. He jolts his eyes at Timmy before he’s shoving his hand up Timothee’s shirt. He whines brokenly as Armie's insistent grip finds his pecs- no, his tits. Fuck, that was the weird thing Timothée was feeling. Armie rips open the buttons with both hands, sending little clear ones flying onto the sheets.

  
“You-“ Timmy chokes on a whimper or a cry, he’s not too sure himself, “you made them grow. You-“

  
Armie snarls. His palms firmly kneading Timmy’s A cup size breasts, they’re tiny but so swollen and sensitive.

  
“They _hurt_!” Timmy hisses, the pain getting too much and his hormones igniting the irritation that this is all caused by Armie breeding him. He doesn’t even think twice before he cries out the words that he instantly regrets, “you stupid alpha you did this to me- you’re hurting me!”

  
Armie smacks him and Timmy instantly burns with humiliation and surprise. Armie is instantly on top of him, manhandling him till Timothée is in missionary position, on his back, legs spread around Armie’s waist with Armie leering furiously from above. His fist wrapped around Timmy’s nervous throat.

  
“I’m sorry sir,” Timmy cries out, ashamed of himself. He disrespected his alpha. The man he’s biologically meant to look up to, cater to, respect. He doesn’t have to see it to know his cheek is inflamed with Armie’s discipline.

  
Armie stills, a torn expression overcoming his features at that, his fist loosening but still cradling his throat.

  
Timmy winces when Armie cups his face with his free hand.

  
“Good little omega,” he tsks, eyeing Timothée carefully. He looks almost impressed at how quickly Timmy submitted for him.

  
Timothée’s tits begin fucking leaking as his chest quivers with his shaky inhales.

  
Armie tenses up quickly as his nostrils flare, like he’s suddenly reminded Timmy just grew fucking tits. Timmy swears he vaguely read about this before, something about it being a symptom that happens to omegas _when_ -

  
“Armie? Did you- are you-“

  
Armie latches his hungry mouth around Timmy’s perky nipple, sucks hard till Timothée is scratching his back roughly, hopelessly wishing he’d leave them alone and then- it suddenly changed. Relief begins flooding him in waves and Armie fondles his other breast without hesitation. Timmy gets wetter at the clear sign of ownership. Armie in this moment owns him more than a dog on a chain.

  
Timmy prays it’ll always be this way.

  
Armie pops off, Timothée’s tit still leaking pale milk.

  
“I have news for you,” Armie starts dryly.

  
Timmy’s throat gets dry as he watches Armie push off the bed, creating distance between them purposely it seems.

  
“I tested you when I touched your stomach,” Armie sighs, tone turning gravelly.

  
“And?” Timmy asks, turning soft spoken and even more vulnerable. Scared. He pulls his knees up to his chest. Which, Armie obviously finds suggestive as he turns away when he looks at Timmy’s bare thighs.

  
“It's-“ Armie starts, looking so painfully torn.

  
“It's fucking mine,” he blurts, _**cold**_.

  
Timothée whimpers, looking down shyly, “I- I told you,” he replies softly. Not much more than a whisper.

  
Armie seems to be on the edge of fuming when he stills, like a thought overcame him.

  
“At least there’s one good thing that came out of this,” It’s obvious his teeth are gritted when he says it. Like he’s just trying to see the positive side of it.

  
Timothée’s heart thuds in his ears.

  
“I put an _alpha_ in you, _omega_ ,” Armie tells him sharply. He doesn’t bother waiting for a response. Maybe he doesn’t care what Timmy would have to say anyways. He exits the room, slamming the door behind him.

  
Timmy is left alone with a thousand thoughts racing through his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *internal screeching* THOUGHTS ????  
> New chapter will be within 3-5 days 😘


	10. Dr. Himmons

_/Armie returned to the room five minutes later with his car keys and a raised eyebrow, and lastly, and most importantly, his lack of patience._

  
_“Put your clothes on, Timmy.”_

  
_Timmy does as quickly as he can and he ignores the weird gut feeling he gets when he thinks about Armie having to wait for him to get ready, almost like he would have to if they were a couple. Armie remains respectful and keeps his eye balls fixated on the floor as Timothée removes Armie's torn button up, it’s a remnant of what it was a mere half hour ago when Timmy first put it on._

  
_“Why did you breed me, that night?” Timmy musters the courage to ask as Armie is in the process of dropping him off at his apartment._

  
_Armie sighs with an edge of annoyance there. Like Timmy always asks stupid questions._

  
_“Because you needed to be bred,” Armie states simply and his tone contradicts the way Timothée's stomach twists with flutters._

  
_“Now get out.”\_

  
-

  
The next couple of days go by smoothly but uneventful and Timothée fears all the teeny little interactions he have with Armie are all based on the baby. Which sounds really selfish but Timmy can’t help it. He’s more than just some fucking _incubator_.

  
“Watch your stomach,” Armie had patronized him earlier today right in front of a beta customer, it had been embarrassing. Timmy remembers the flood red on his cheeks and made sure next time he handed a customer their change he wouldn’t lean so much.

  
Then there was the other incident with the coffee creamers. Timothée noticed the other day that the vanilla, hazelnut and strawberry syrups had all been nearing their ends so he’d went to the back and came to the front with two 20 lb boxes hoisted on his hip. Armie had nearly made Timothée drop them on his own feet when he yelled an angry, “Timmy!”

  
Timmy had felt stupidly vulnerable as Armie easily taken them off his struggling frame with a tsk.

  
But now, this is next level.

  
“Are you serious?”

  
Timmy had to question it because this universe isn’t clicking with the reality he’d living in these past months. Is Armie really asking this?

  
Armie is starting to look annoyed as he says it, “yes, I want a doctor to guarantee my alpha son is growing strong.”

  
Timothée would laugh if the situation wasn’t so screwed. He and Armie are nothing and all Armie seems to think about Timmy is that he’s a omega he knocked up.

  
Nothing more nothing less.

  
Timmy rolls his eyes even though he knows better. His hormones have been setting in harder now and he’ll use that excuse for however long he can get away with it. If Armie ever lets him get away with it, that is.

  
“Don’t fucking roll your eyes at me,” Armie hisses under his breath. His eyes darting to the mere three already attended to customers happily sipping their drinks in what appears to be a deep enough conversation that they don’t even bother them a second glance.

  
Timothée nods, and takes a quick sip of his lingering cappuccino so he doesn’t have to say anything.

  
Armie yanks it from his hand and tosses it in the bin, “stop drinking this shit, this isn’t good for my offspring,” and with that he turns on his heels towards the back of the café.

  
Timothée frowns disappointedly at his now weeping coffee onto a bunch of thrown out tissue paper. He’ll sneakily make another one later he promises to himself.

  
-

  
The appointment approaches fast, Armie decided the time and date and Timmy knows it would have been that way regardless of the fact Armie’s the only one who got a vehicle. It makes him anxious and his veins pulse hotly with a strange but instinctual thrill he gets out of the interest Armie has taken on about their growing child.

  
“Name?” the receptionist asks, eyeing Armie carefully as she flicks her eyes between them. It’s obvious from Armie’s scent and exterior that he’s a dominant alpha. She clearly seems to recognize that and Timmy tries to pretend that he’s not jealous. Besides, he can’t act like Armie doesn’t look like a macho run way model unless he’s just trying to fool himself. It’s plenty obvious to see how he stands out in a room.

  
Especially a room like this one, it’s dull. Grey. There’s pamphlets in nearly every corner about various biological issues people unfortunately end up with. There’s one about irregular menstrual cycles, abortion support, and various ones about STDS. The one that stands out the most is a visual graph on pregnancy stages, what to expect and whatever else.

  
After Armie finishes checking in with the front desk on behalf of Timmy he comes to stand behind him like a hovering shadow.

  
“Look,” Timmy says, his voice hitched with an edge of excitement leaking in. He never really tries to think about the reality of being pregnant, that he’ll have to birth, raise and love this thing. This thing, creation that he and Armie made.

  
Armie grabs his hips from behind, making Timothée squeak with shock. He’s wearing black sweats and a soft little baby blue sweater so he barely feels Armie’s grip but knowing it’s there makes Timothée want to screech like a cat begging for food.

  
“Alpha babies are the biggest, Timmy,” Armie says suddenly, voice going alpha deep.

  
Timmy subtly presses back against Armie’s unmoving grip, he nods submissively, glancing up big eyed at him to show he’s listening. The sickly bittersweet part is the ache developing in his neck from having to look up at him.

  
Armie’s irises flood with a dark depth, as if he’s reading Timmy’s demeanor and contemplating a thought all at once.

  
“Your hips grew,” he makes it a point by digging his fingers into Timothée’s thighs, “that’ll help the birthing process a lot.”

  
“Yes?” Timmy asks, unsure.

  
Armie releases him and just nods, looking around impatiently.

  
-

“Dr. Himmons, would you recommend I get him a breast pump this early on?”

  
Timmy can’t believe he’s having this conversation, or even worse. That Armie’s having this conversation about him.

  
He’s literally just sat there on an open hospital bed, fully naked besides his underwear and thin little blue hospital gown that’s dry and scratchy and Timmy just can’t wait till he can take it off.

  
Dr. Himmons hums, nodding at Armie, “you very well could do so if he’s already making milk, may I take a look?”

  
Timmy only realizes Dr. Himmons isn’t even asking him until he looks up and Dr. Himmons full attention is directed at Armie. Armie appears to wince with the thought of it, but he replies with a tight lipped, “yes,” anyways. 

  
Dr. Himmons pulls on a pair of gloves and he pushes his swivel chair next to Timothée so he can sit and have a look. Armie maintains his distance in the corner and he looks seconds away from pacing.

  
“Final check of consent,” Dr. Timmons says simply out loud, obviously noting Armie’s increasingly frustrated scent beginning to fill the air. Timmy understands, Armie doesn’t want another alpha to touch him. The thought sends a voltage of warmth down his spine.

  
“Just do it,” Armie huffs, trying to very apparently maintain his cool so he doesn’t make a fool out of himself.

  
Timmy settles back flat as the doctor guides him to do so with a gentle press to his shoulder.

  
“Let me see,” Dr. Himmons instructs, pulling Timothée’s sleeves down.

  
“Okay,” Dr. Himmons hums, both of his palms cupping Timmy’s A cups, completely covering them with his long hands.

  
Milk begins to leak on the gloves Dr. Himmons is wearing and Timmy almost would feel embarrassed if he didn’t smell the scent of arousal beginning to omit off the doctor. It’s a normal response regardless of profession but it doesn’t make Timmy feel any less weird as he’s fondled by a sixty plus year old man.

  
“Are you almost done?” Armie grits his teeth as he says it and the real kicker is that Timothée knows Armie’s too far to scent Dr. Himmons. Timmy knows it’s a good thing not to mention it because he really doesn’t need Armie assaulting the doctor right now.

  
“Yes, almost,” Dr. Himmons begins, “He’s full of milk at a very early stage, there is a high chance he’s carrying an alpha,” he says, pressing Timothée’s breast together and watching them leak.

  
Armie’s nonchalant forced nod contradicts the way his fists clench together and his nostrils flare like they always do when he’s getting aggressive.

  
Timmy whines when Dr. Himmons rubs one of his breasts too firmly, causing milk to burst out in a skinny little stream.

  
“Sir- if you could attend to your omega, I’ll step out for a moment,” Dr. Himmons states, removing his gloves and he’s got sweat on his forehead and his pants look too tight and Timmy really really hates being an omega sometimes. Even though Timmy understands it’s hard for alphas to control it unless they’ve got an unbeatable willpower or take suppressors but it’s god awful and embarrassing having to deal with doctors reacting to him like this all his life whilst all his beta and alpha friends growing up didn’t.

  
The second the door closes Armie strides to him.

  
Timmy yelps when he feels it. The sharp but too good pleasure of Armie’s painfully taut suction freeing his engorged little boobs from the obscene amount of milk they were stuffed with. Armie looks weirdly peaceful as he gnaws at Timothée’s nipples till they’re reddened and spent.

  
Armie pulls off with a pop and forces Timothée to cover his chest to prepare for the doctors re-entry.

  
Two knocks and a pleased grin.

  
“Much better?” Dr. Himmons asks almost like Timmy’s a kid that’s about to get a lollipop at the dentist for being good. Typical alpha’s.

  
“Yes, doctor,” Timmy nods like a good boy, pretending he doesn’t see the vague outline of Armie tenting his own slacks.

  
“That’s good. It’s good for you to regulate your hormones and the plus side is your milk is very healthy,” Dr. Himmons states somewhat absentmindedly, clicking away with a squint at his computer as he goes over what else he’s going to do with Timmy.

  
-

  
“This will be cold,” he warns, dropping a dollop of a thick clear ointment onto Timothée's round little belly. Dr. Himmons heads over to the corner of the room to adjust the overhead lights, dimming them till the brightest thing in the room is the blue screen and Timothée’s bared teeth as he winces from the chill from the AC making the goo even colder on his tummy.

  
Armie settles a hand on Timothée’s knee as he watches Dr. Himmons pick up the ultrasound wand.

  
“What will I be able to see at this stage?” Armie asks. Timmy bitterly tastes the ‘I’ very clearly and is suddenly well reminded that every ounce of concern Armie has shown so far has been completely directed at their baby.

  
“The outline for sure and possibly some features depending how fast your fetus is growing,” Dr. Himmons says, guiding his wand down firmly against Timmy’s swollen uterus.

  
The image on the screen turns from static to a sepia toned blob in a split second.

  
It’s heartbeat is loud, overwhelming. Timmy wants to both laugh and cry.

  
It’s their baby. It’s _**real**_. It’s no longer a faceless enigma clogging up Timothée’s brain waves. It’s a fetus growing into a baby that’ll one day be theirs to raise and it’ll look like him and it’ll look like Armie-

  
His baby will fucking look like Armie. The thought rivets itself around inside Timmy like a ping pong ball and he doesn’t know which emotion it’ll settle on.

  
Armie is dead silent and Timothée is too shy to bear the confidence to make eye contact.

  
“This baby is growing fast,” Dr. Himmons mutters, pointing out certain spots on his computer and pressing a button repeatedly when he gets a good angle.

  
“This is definitely a two months long alpha pregnancy, congratulations, due to the sex of your child and the velocity of the rate it’s growing at I can reveal the gender to you if you wish,” he offers.

  
Timothée smiles toothily, feeling joyful. Their baby is big and healthy. What more could he ask for?

  
“No thank you-“ Timmy starts, Armie shushes him quickly. “Yes I’d like to know,” Armie states, his grip on Timmy’s knee intensifying until Timmy relaxes.

  
Dr. Himmons looks between them, before zooming in on their fetuses lower body, it looks like a blur to Timothée but somehow the doctor seems to easily see everything. “Right here is the penis,” he points, raising his eyebrows and clicking with his mouse.

  
Armie grins so beamingly wide that Timothée doesn’t know what to make of it. It’s so out of place but all that Timmy can think of is that they’re having a little baby boy.

  
Dr. Himmons appears amused, “you’re proud of your omega aren’t you?”

  
Armie chuckles, and it’s so alpha to alpha type talk that Timmy feels out of place. Like they’re discussing a trophy.

  
“Very, _very_ proud,” Armie admits, and when he squeezes Timothée’s wrist Timmy thinks maybe things will be okay between them.

  
All he can do is _**hope**_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *SCREAMS* thoughts ??? Do you think Timmy is growing on Armie or is it something else? Please leave your feedback 😳💖


	11. Bottled Up

Timmy is three months along when Armie finally asks him to come over again. 

  
They’re closing shop for the day, it’s mid March and the weather is starting to break. He heard the mourning doves this morning when did he had left his apartment complex. Plus the sky has taken to being a more beaming blue over a soulless grey. It almost replicates how he feels nowadays. The days have gotten brighter and longer and Timmy no longer fears the future.

Armie has been consistent with him. He checks up on him daily, he's always avidly curious about the baby and how fast he's growing. He makes small talk here and there, but tragically enough he still seems to shut Timmy out. He doesn't open up to tell him about anything else in his personal life just besides his newly acquainted interest in the baby.

  
For some reason today is different. 

  
“I’m gonna take you to my place tonight. We are gonna stop by your apartment and I want you to get ready and bring an extra outfit in case I’m too tired to drive you home later,” Armie tells him like they’re discussing business instead of a personal plan.

  
Timmy feels and looks bewildered. The first thing he does is blink at him and blush, his mind a jumbled mess of hormonal thoughts.

  
Armie reaches up and tugs at a strand of hair dangling way past Timmy’s chin at this point. “Style your hair too, it’s getting really curly, omega,” he says simply like he’s not ordering Timmy around to visibly please him.

  
“Are you always gonna call me _that_?” Timmy asks, wishing he’d bite his tongue but instead floods with relief when Armie doesn’t frown but instead quirks an intrigued brow. He’s not exactly mad about it but he’s starting to wonder how below Armie thinks of him.

  
“Is that not what you are?”

  
Timmy sputters, “yes- but,” and fucking Armie just casually grins. And for extra thrill he steps closer to Timmy, the mere inches he moved towards him mattered a lot when it came to height. Armie now physically proving his point by towering over him with that shit eating grin as Timmy squirms.

  
“Exactly. Now be a good omega and do as I say,” he smiles bright yet Timmy knows better than to be naïve enough to think Armie’s kidding.

  
So Timmy giggles, half uncomfortable and the other half dick whipped. He’s desperately been trying not to flirt with Armie in any way, he wants to play like he’s not absolutely infatuated the way he is. But it’s goddamn hard when Armie’s so close like this. So teasing. He’s the father of the baby in his belly so he feels reassured that he’s got a goddamn right to feel lustful and clingy.

  
Armie tsks, almost as if he’s flirting, a sly smile playing on his lips but his gaze darkening. Timothée startles when Armie tilts his head up with two nimble fingers prodding his chin up.

  
“Yes?” Armie asks without an ounce of uncertainty.

  
Timmy shudders, mind fogging with his own omega pheromones, “yes sir. I mean alpha- uh Armie.”

  
Armie taps his cheek gently, as if to say ‘good boy.’ Timothée suddenly overly hot and lies to himself that it’s the overhead lights doing it.

  
-

  
They get to Armie’s place without a problem besides the slight uncomfortable silence on the way there.

  
“So… why am I here today?” he doesn’t intend to sound so awkward but it comes out that way.

  
Armie straightens his tie, he had dressed very proper and nice today Timothée had noticed. All sleek and handsome. His house is dim today and slightly messier than the last time Timmy had been in it he notes. There’s newspaper and spam mail scattered on his black countertops and a couple bowls stacked in his sink. Timmy subtly glances at Armie’s coat hanger and is pleased to see only Armie sized stuff hanging from it. 

  
“I wanted to spend time with you.”

  
Timmy gulps.

  
“ _Really_?” he asks softly, voice trembling with the vulnerability that Armie may be lying to him.

  
Armie nods, “Why wouldn’t I? You’re carrying my child.” He goes on to elaborate further, “besides, I gave Dr. Himmons a call a couple of days ago. I wanted to know what more I could be doing to help.”

  
“Help?” Timothée asks meekly. Curious on what Armie spoke about with Dr. Himmons. He tugs on his thin gold bracelet with nerves, avoiding Armie's lingering gaze.

  
“Help you and the baby stay healthy, you need your alpha around to maintain your hormone level,” Armie explains almost clinically. Like he repeated word for word what Dr. Himmons had said.

  
Timmy adjusts his weight on each foot, feeling his lower back begin to ache.

  
“Well, my back hurts, you could start off by giving me a massage,” Timothée jokes whilst palming their baby through his beige t shirt.

  
Armie doesn’t laugh, he nods and grips Timmy’ a hand instead.

  
“Okay,” he finalizes. Timmy shivers, now curious to what he got himself into.

  
-

  
Timothée cries out, “oh my god.” His shoulders shake as pleasure spikes up his spine.

  
Armie pushes him down, heavy big hands on him maintaining a steady pressure on his lower spine.

  
“That feels so so good,” Timmy nearly whines, his teeth catch for a second against the bed sheets and he fills with heat at the nostalgia it brings. All he sees when he closes his eyes is Armie hovering above him, his naked hips plowing roughly between Timmy’s legs and his hand roughly shoving Timmy down-

  
 ** _Stop_**.

  
Don’t get wet right now. Don’t-

  
And he feels it, hot, silky and dripping.

  
Armie’s hunched over him. There’s no mistaking he smells it. Smells his slick and leaking tits.

  
Timmy’s hips subtly raise and Armie stills, going dead quiet.

  
“ _Timmy_ ,” Armie hisses, his eyes wide and red when Timmy peers at him through his floppy bangs.

  
Timothée yelps as he’s flipped, his back dipping into the indent where his stomach had just been and Armie is on him like a beast.

“Don’t-“ Armie warns when Timmy goes to touch him. Armie’s nose is flared and his chest puffing with heavy intakes of air. Timothée’s finger quakes with the urge to pull him further down on him but Armie stays back on his haunches, looking bewildered like he’s not sure what to do.

  
“You can-“ _touch me_ Timmy almost pleads, almost fucking begs and he knows he’s got to look a mess right now with his hair all messy from being forced over and his lips red from his anxious gnawing.

  
Armie grunts, and turns away. Getting off the bed and leaving all but a dip.

  
When he regains his composure Armie sighs dramatically like Timmy is such a pest. “Take a shower, you’re wet,” he points out like it’s easy information and not embarrassing as _fuck_ for Timmy.

  
So Timmy holds no bars. He’s hormonal and Armie hasn’t had sex with him since he knocked him up. Timothée wants, _no_ \- needs cock. Armie’s cock.

  
He can’t make eye contact when he says it, his tone almost arguing what Armie had said. “Or you could breed me,” he suggests, voice shaking and heart thundering when he realizes how powerful his hormones got to be right now for him to even muster the courage to say that.

  
“Good omega's deserve to be bred, not those like _you_ ,” Armie hisses in a tone so suddenly unfamiliar to the almost caring way Armie had massaged his back five minutes ago.

  
Timothée almost chokes on air. Confusion settling in.

  
“Wha- _what_?” he asks, sitting up straight and pulling down his shirt to cover himself.

  
Armie snarls. Armie’s pheromones begin invading his senses and yeah- he’s pissed. He tugs at his sleeves, still looking so professional even with his aggressive nature saturating his face and stance.

  
“You’re a whore, Timmy. And I fucking hate whores, but guess what? I knocked you up and there’s nothing I can do about it,” he quips with an ferocious look glazing his eyes.

  
Timothée’s brain swirls with emotions and he just wants to cut a hole into the wall next to his shivering, frail body and hide from this angered version of Armie. He may be beyond used to Armie’s anger issues but this is something different.

  
Timmy can tell Armie had been wanting to say this for awhile.

  
But Timothée is no 'whore,’ he’d been with only few men when it came to actual sex and only a couple more that he’d only given oral to. That all was long in the past as well. On top of that there’s no way for Armie to know his body count regardless. It doesn’t click.

  
Jonathon’s words float through his brain like a passing mini advertising airplane.

  
 _‘He used to tell me all the time how’d he wanted to fuck you and then dip_.’

  
Tears of pain and discomfort spring to his eyes. Armie hasn’t been growing on him. This really had been all for the baby. 

  
Timmy’s voice is disgustingly weak and broken when he begins, “you aren’t a real man, you’re just-“ Timmy sobs, “you’re just an asshole- you- you used me just like Jonathon said.”

  
He huddles in on himself, closing his eyes tightly for an estimate of three seconds before a loud glass shatters right beside his head. He gasps in dreadful way, his ear ringing loud with the noise and his vision fixes on the mess of a broken brown candle on the floor. Completely shattered like Timothée’s heart.

  
Armie is faced away from him now, seething with his fists clenched. Sweat visibly soaking into the fine fabric clutching Armie’s taut shoulders.

  
“Armie-“ Timmy whimpers.

  
“Shut the fuck up!” Armie roars in an angry shout in his alpha tone, his tense muscles in his arms riveting as he throws it at the wall, landing punch after punch until there’s multiple holes gathered together in a way that’d make a minimalist artist proud.

  
Timmy tries to keep his sobs quiet. It’s hard when his stomach feels queasy and Armie looks so fucking terrifying right now.

  
He sees static in his eyes for a split second when Armie yanks him up by the hair. Timothée screeches, clawing at his hand as Armie pushes him up against the wall.

  
Armie’s eyes look grimly black and demonic in the harsh lighting, the glass from the candle crunching under his shoe.

  
“You let _him_ fuck you after I had you, didn’t you?” Armie seethes, shoving Timmy further against the wall till their chests are almost sealed and Timmy’s wrists are feeling swollen from Armie’s grip.

  
Timmy can barely see past his tears.

  
“Who?” he begs, desperate for Armie to stop.

  
Armie grits his teeth, “you fucking know who- that scumbag, no good for nothing alpha that you used to prance around in his fucking shirts-“

  
It all clicks.

  
“ _Jonathon_?” Timmy asks, doll eyed in disbelief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHGDGDHH thoughts ???? 😭💖


	12. Prove It

“ _Jonathon_?” Timmy asks, doll eyed in disbelief.

  
Armie snarls, gripping Timothée's wrists even tighter in a death grip. Timothée whines, fighting back the natural urge to let more heated tears flow. Armie is down right bone chilling like this. He’s unrecognizable when Timmy thinks back to when he’d first met him, when Armie was just his hot, uncaring boss and not Timothée's baby’s father.

  
“Armie- please, _alpha!_ ” Timmy cries out when Armie grips his long hair with one tight fist, hard.

  
“You let him fuck your little _cunt_ didn’t you? Tell me bitch,” Armie growls, little specks of spit hitting Timothée’s chin.

  
Timmy squirms uncomfortably against Armie, trying to get away yet closer so his hair won’t be yanked further. 

  
“I didn’t- I never-“ Timmy cries.

  
“Tell me,” Armie orders menacingly. His hair a mess and his five o clock shadow visible in the harsh lighting.

  
“I never let him.. fuck me. I never even knew he- he wanted to,” Timmy says, voice thick with tears and submission.

  
Armie makes a soft sigh, like he almost believes him. He studies Timmy’s face, peering harshly for any evident lies Timothée assumes. Timothée feels weak kneed. He must look an abused mess, hair tangled, red cheeks, docile eyes.

  
Timmy yells when Armie forces him to walk by holding his hair, Timmy stumbling behind Armie’s long, careless strides.

  
Timmy whimpers out as Armie practically throws him on the bed, the sheets a mess but a soft fall when he lands. He instinctively pulls his knees up to his chest, careful to he vulnerable around such a feral Armie.

  
“You’re gonna prove it,” Armie states, fist clenched and voice full of dominance.

  
Timmy leaks like a bitch just at the mere tone yet alone the look Armie’s giving him. The way his tie is disheveled, eyes dark and veins jutting out from adrenaline. He looks like a dark work of art.

  
“Yes sir,” Timmy says in his omega voice, softer and sweeter. He’s giving the look too, the innocent baby doll, blinky big eyed look he was kinda infamous for with the jocks in his high school days when he’d be bruising his knees looking up at them on the bathroom tiles.

  
He doesn’t know what Armie means by ‘prove it’ until a split second later when he’s forced to roll over, _no_ \- bend over and arch with Armie’s heavy hand pressing on his back.

  
Armie hastily pulls off Timmy’s mom style jeans and Timothée reddens when he realizes he took Timothée’s underwear down with it, too.

  
“Take off your shirt, I wanna feel your tits,” Armie growls, rutting his slack covered hard cock against the back of Timothée’s bare thigh.

  
Timothée does pliantly, feeling a small sense of exploitation yet arousal when Armie fondles the small swell of his boobs like he’s seen raging steroid heads do to pornstars in the flicks.

  
Armie obviously not satisfied with Timmy’s tense arch, he grips both sides of his narrow little waist and anchors him further down till Timmy takes the hint, relaxing his spine and he instantly feels his hips spread upwards and his tummy touch the sheets in a classic omega pose.

  
“Good bitch,” Armie hums, sliding a rough hand down to knead Timothée’s plush cheek. Timmy vibrates with hormones and a bit of shame when he realizes he gained a couple of pounds since Armie first had him.

  
Two rough fingers prod at his wet hole, insistent for entry. Timothée howls brokenly as Armie forces them in all the way to his thick knuckles, Timmy’s tiny hole quivering around the taut stretch of it.

  
“Ah-“ Armie hums, sounding pleased, “your cunt is so tight little omega.”

  
Timothée claws at the sheets, subtly rocking back on his fingers but it’s too little and top much and he’s already weak and oversensitized.

  
“You want Daddy to put his cock in your little omega pussy?” Armie says lowly, voice almost mocking Timothée's pathetic state of physical being as he slides his fingers out and bumps his heavy cock against Timmy’s hole. He must look so frail and prey like to an alpha like Armie. He’s bent over, shaking and wet with his slick running down his thighs because he’s so thirsty for it. Needs it so painfully bad.

  
Timmy can’t make out words, omega brain fog coming in hard so he just mewls and spreads his legs achingly further.

  
Armie doesn’t ask twice, his thick cock stretching Timmy’s tight slit with a forceful thrust, he presses balls deep even before Timmy can blink. Tears springing to his eyes as his tight walls had no time to deal with the painful size of Armie’s nine inch cock.

  
“ _Alpha_ -“ Timmy cries out, long hair sticking to his humid lips as he quivers on Armie’s huge cock, “You’re _too_ big.”

  
Timothée can feel Armie grin against his neck, the soft chuckle in his ears.

  
“Good omega, you can take it,” he tells him more confidently then Timothée believes to be true. He doesn’t think he can. It **_hurts_**.

  
Armie makes another testing thrust, this time Timothée swears he can feel his stomach move with it.

  
“Too deep alpha,” Timmy whines, tears shining on his eyelashes.

  
Armie huffs, pulling out soundly. Timothée’s thigh shake as cool air overtake the warmth that was just there.

  
No. Don’t leave-

  
“Alpha- where are you going?” Timmy begs, lifting himself up by his palms, looking up at Armie all bleary eyed and desperate.

  
“Shush- wait omega.”

  
Armie leaves the room for all but a minute. He strides back in with a little white apron they used to use at the café and two ponytail bands.

  
He tosses them at Timothée and it barely misses hitting him in the face.

  
“Wear this,” he says, straightening his button up sleeve and Timothée is awfully reminded just how naked he is and all Armie had was his cock freed from his unzipped jet black slacks.

  
“Two ponytails?” Timmy asked, confused. He blinks dumbly at Armie’s increasingly intimidating stare.

  
Armie sighs like Timothée is clueless, “pigtails,” he clarifies. Voice going gravelly once Timmy pulled up the strap of the apron.

  
Timmy wrinkles his nose, “but-“

  
“Do it.” Armie’s intense gaze and order left no room for argument as he exits the room.

  
-

  
It only took Timmy roughly three minutes to make them look decent. The mirror is clean and makes Timmy look so much more broken then the one at his home does. His reddened little nose and wet eyes make his eyelashes look extra dark and long. He looks the most feminine he’d ever seen himself with these poofy, symmetrical plush pigtails poking out one behind each ear.

  
Armie opens the door and Timmy whimpers, ashamed what Armie will think of him.

  
Armie doesn’t study him very long, if anything his demeanor is extremely casual, nonchalant as he walks past Timmy simply, toeing off his sneakers to get more comfortable and sliding off his slacks till they land in a messy heap on the wooden glossy floor.

  
“Come here omega,” he orders, voice raspy as he begins to stroke his hard cock.

  
Timmy’s knees threaten to give out with each voluntary, submissive step towards him.

  
His throat dries up at the nearly forgotten enormity of Armie’s length, it’s reddened at the tip, balls fat and heavy. Timmy’s is so fragile and smaller in comparison due to his being unnecessary and useless.

  
Timmy doesn’t know if he wants to sink down on it or run from it.

  
Armie snags him up by his wrist onto the bed impatiently, manhandling his lithe body till he’s bent over, knees spread wide besides Armie’s body and ass up next to the left side of Armie’s face, his own head low, angled next to Armie’s cock. It’s near sixty nine without Timmy actually being on Armie.

  
He feels heat gather in his cheeks, he’s totally exposed. His ass peeking out the short apron that accentuates his slim waist and swollen tits. And Armie is just staring.

  
“Suck it omega,” Armie hisses, gripping the base of his veiny cock and smacking Timmy's lips and nose with it.

  
Timmy muffles his whimper by tentatively suckling the head into his mouth. It’s big and Timothée doesn’t have to tighten his lips too much for it to fill his cheeks.

  
“Good boy,” Armie coos sarcastically, threading his lengthy fingers into the loose bangs Timmy couldn’t fit into his pigtails. Armie pulls his cock out of his mouth with a pop, rubbing the spit disrespectfully all over Timothée’s face.

  
Timmy makes a soft broken noise, closing his eyes when Armie runs the head along his lashes.

  
“Why- why the pigtails?” Timmy asks carefully as he takes Armie back into his silky hot mouth, sliding his tongue down to lap at his heavy, hairy balls before wrapping his luscious lips around the leaking head again.

  
Timmy can’t see Armie’s face at this angle but he can feel him shift, his knee falling wider open to give Timmy better access to service his alpha cock.

  
“ _Handlebars_ ,” Armie grunts, gripping both pigtails with his clenched fists and pulling Timothée’s unexpecting throat down harshly on his cock. Timmy whimpers but it’s muffled by his throat being stuffed by the biggest cock he ever had. It’s too much for his gag reflex, he pushes off with his needy hands pressing at Armie’s sturdy thighs for mercy. He coughs, heaving for air and spit clinging from his mouth to Armie’s cock like a clear string.

  
Armie taps his cheek lightly, then retrieves a firm grip of his pigtails and he leads him down without bothering to check if Timmy got a decent amount of air.

  
Timmy’s eyes go big, then _cross eyed_ as they roll back in his skull when Armie presses his balls up against his nose, cock buried inches past his sensitive gag reflex. His thighs tremble as Armie begins to use his face, roughly fucking up into his docile throat with an audible ‘ _gluh gluh gluh_ ’ sound every time he takes him to the hilt.

  
Timmy doesn’t realize he’s crying till he can’t think- can’t breathe. The lack of oxygen making his eyes water and his cunt leak.

  
He feels like a pathetic fuck toy, bent over, hole exposed and throat getting used by an alpha that has yet to actually claim him.

  
Timmy's cries around Armie’s large cock are muffled into girly whines. Armie’s using his mouth like a rag doll, roughly fucking up into it, balls slapping sweaty against his tiny nose. Just mere seconds later Armie’s hips sputter, he sinks Timmy’s throat all the way down, swollen lips and nose mushed against Armie’s manly breeder balls. Pulse after pulse of cum is shot into his throat, Armie aggressively holding Timmy’s pigtails when he tries to weakly pull off, needing air in his lungs.

  
After a second Armie releases him, Timmy inhales heavily and repeatedly, coughing as a steady drool of cum hangs from the corners of his mouth down onto Armie's now empty and loose balls.

  
Armie sighs, sounding pleased and content. He gets up methodically, casually pulling up his underwear and pants like nothing happened.

  
“You did good today, Timmy,” he tells him, tone neutral but there’s a hint of ego there, too.

  
Timmy’s mouth is swollen, _sore_.

  
“Get some sleep,” Armie then says, leaving the room as if nothing had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts ? 👀👀👀 How are you feeling? 😳💖


	13. I Need Some Warmth, Please

Armie left him to sleep alone.

  
Timmy wakes up in the middle of the night with sweat dripping down his spine, nervousness shooting through his belly before he realizes where he is. His surroundings are dark but he can make out enough to still see the grim remnants of drywall on the floor.

  
“Armie!” He calls out, his voice strained and dry from the rough treatment it had received just hours prior. Or minutes, Timothée is so disoriented at this point he’s not so sure himself.

  
It’s shake worthy cold as Timmy peels the thick, white cotton off his legs and steps his bare feet onto the cold hard floors. They’re evidently up to date as Timothée moves freely without making a sound.

  
There’s a dim light illuminating from down the hall when he peers out. No sound except the low hum of people chattering, it’s too quiet to be real voices though. It must be the tv.

  
There’s pictures lining the wall that Timothée never gotten the choice to study, just quick glances the few times he had been here. There’s only a couple, and Timmy begins to wonder just how tiny Armie’s family is when he sees him with the same few people in every picture. There’s two men usually, one looking about Armie’s years and the other much older, Timothée notes it could be his father, the cutting blue eyes and tall body is all very similar. The other might be the brother Armie sometimes mentions very rarely, but in the pictures they seem perfectly happy, gleaming even.

  
Then there’s various other ones, like the young woman whose picture looks like it was taken back in WW2 era, possibly Armie’s grandma as a young woman, her teeth stand out to Timmy with how much they resemble Armie’s perfect grin. Timothée notices how crooked the frame is hung and it gnaws at him till he decides what’s the big deal in adjusting right?

  
_**Wrong.** _

  
His fingers yank it a little _too_ hard and it’s screw bends, it is like watching a car crash as it topples what in this moment seems like slow motion.

  
_Smash!_

  
Timothée jumps back in a horrified awe of what he had done, wincing when a tiny piece of glass shard nips into his big toe. Fuck.

  
The noise was so fucking _loud_. Armie’s going to be so mad at him-

  
“What the fuck?” Armie then says out of nowhere, making Timothée jump again like a wussy. Armie doesn’t look pissed though, if anything he looks confused, all sleepy eyed and voice hoarse from sleep.

  
“I- I’m sorry,” Timothée shudders, carelessly stepping backwards onto the shards in fear of Armie’s potentially rapid changing mood. He cries out in shock when a big piece of glass slices the heel of his foot, he stumbles, nearly falling on his ass-

  
Armie swoops him up like he weighs nothing more than air. Timothée groans, wiggling his toes in pain as the blade is still stuck, somewhat jabbed into his foot.

  
The glass crunches under Armie’s socks as Armie carries him. Timothée’s heart is thudding like a bass drum, adrenaline swirling with anxiety in his body like a poisoned soup he wants to puke up and get away from.

  
“Armie- please- _please_ don’t hurt me,” Timmy begs pitifully, genuine distrust tracing his eyes as he flicks his up all wide eyed at Armie’s unfocused ones.

  
Armie goes tense for a second, then sighs. Almost sounding somber.

  
“I’m not going to hurt you Timmy,” he says nearly dreadedly, but what makes Timothée feel the most relief is the gentle hand carding through his bangs following that sentiment.

  
“Is-“ Timmy swallows hard, “is it because I’m pregnant?”

  
Armie shakes his head, tsking like a teacher would to a ignorant student. His sleepy eyes make him look so much more softer, more tender, more humanized in a way. 

  
This is a first time for Timmy to see **_this_** Armie.

  
“I’m going to run you a shower,” Armie says instead of bothering with the question. He doesn’t ask if Timothée even wants to bathe but the fact he cares enough to start the tub for Timmy counts regardless. _Baby steps_.

  
All Timmy can muster himself to do is nod weakly, curling into Armie’s strong chest. 

  
-

  
Armie’s using a fucking loofah on him. Timothée can’t believe his reality. His thighs shiver in the hot water regardless of the temperature. He’s thrumming with nerves and the minor cut in his foot now long forgotten about as Armie’s steady hands apply pressure scrubbing his back.

  
“Th- thank you,” Timothée states awkwardly, he’s sitting on the pale tiles of Armie’s fancy modernistic shower. All hunched over with his bony knees pulled up to his chest. Armie is only seeing him from the back from which Timmy assumes is to be respectful of his privacy, the thought itself is very odd. Armie is never respectful to him.

  
“For what?” Armie counters, his tone staying nonchalant but he noticeably scrubs a little harder possibly without realizing.

  
“Um,” Timmy swallows thickly, “for being nice to me,” he trails off weakly, getting shyer as the words slip out. He knows Armie must be staring at his bony back, looking at the protruding knobs of his spine.

  
Armie stills, dropping the loofah and letting it land against Timothée’s ass cheeks with a soft plop. 

  
A heavy sigh and seconds of increasingly odd silence follow.

  
Timothée glances back, heavy lidded as the pressure of the water smacks him in the face. It's steamy and his vision blurs as droplets get into his eyes.

  
Armie looks just disappointed, a flat frown pinching his lips.

  
“Timmy,” Armie grunts. A heavy hand coming down to grip his bony, naked knee. Timothée squirms involuntarily, feeling his own kneecap be dug into by Armie’s thick fingers.

  
“I-“

  
Armie starts, stops, then forces himself to look away. His eyebrows tightening together as if a torn mental battle is flickering through his mind 

  
Timmy closes his eyes, huddling in on himself further. He feels more vulnerable in the dreadful silence. 

  
“I just need you to respect me,” Armie answers incredibly simply after a long stretch of indecisive quietness.

  
That’s all?

  
“I do respect you,” Timmy whispers, running his fingers through his wet strands to wash some lingering conditioner out.

  
“Not enough,” Armie decides, his gaze returning to a more normal version of himself. It strikes Timothée how terribly depressing it is that normal Armie is an annoyed Armie. An irritated Armie. A angry, uncontrollable hostile Armie is somehow normal to Timmy.

  
Armie leaves the bathroom and Timothée let’s a tear slip, begging God that when he steps out of the bathroom he’s not encountered with the Armie he’s used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timmy is starting to gain some confidence don't you think? Let me know your thoughts on why Armie's acting so strange 👀👀👀❤


End file.
